Текст книги "Doctor Who- Beautiful Chaos"

Автор книги: Gary Russell

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The Doctor grinned. ‘Marvellous race, Verrons. They have a brilliant air corps. Utterly useless, they haven’t fought a war in a few millennia, but their air corps is their proudest achievement. It’s a bit like you sending someone a three-bar DSO.’ The Doctor shrugged. ‘Hang on, when did she send you that, where did she get it from, and how on earth did she get it to you?’

 

Wilf almost recoiled from the Doctor’s stream-of-conscious barrage of questions.

‘Not a clue. ’Ere, you don’t need it back do you? I mean, it wasn’t stolen? Donna hasn’t nicked anything since those sweets from Woolies when she was eight. We made her take ’em back and apologise and everything.’

‘No, no, I doubt she nicked it. Verrons are very generous. I just want to know when she met a Verron.’

‘I’d hate to think my little girl was not being properly looked after, Doctor,’ Wilf said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Helios 5,’ the Doctor said. ‘Had to be there. Or Ylum.

I like Ylum, so did Donna – very cosmopolitan. Or perhaps from the Moulin Très Rouge. There was a street market there. Or I suppose there was that day on—’

‘Anyway,’ Wilf cut across him, ‘we came here for a reason.’

‘A reason other than you wanting to check what my intentions were towards your granddaughter? And to give my left cheek a chance to cool down.’

Wilf laughed. ‘Oh, that’s Sylvia’s way, not mine. I know you’re honourable. I also know Donna can take care of herself in that regard. Any dishonourability from you, you’d never hear the end of it. Literally.’

The Doctor thought about ‘oi’ and decided yes, Wilf knew his granddaughter very well indeed.

Wilf adjusted his telescope. ‘Look though here.’

The Doctor did, and saw a star. A tiny little pinprick of light, flickering enough that every so often it seemed to vanish.

‘Like it? 7432MOTT,’ Wilf said proudly.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ the Doctor said, staring back at him again.

‘They named it after you?’

‘I discovered it. I joined a node. Not long after, I discovered that star. The RPS are doing me a dinner tomorrow night.’

‘I node nudding anout nodes,’ the Doctor said.

‘Ah, well a node is—’ Wilf started, but the Doctor waved it aside.

‘I’m joking. I know what a node is. And I’m dead impressed, Wilf, that you have a star named in your honour and I’m even more overjoyed the Royal Planetary Society are throwing you a knees-up. And I bet you bought a new tie and everything. And I am so sorry to have to rain on your parade, but can I just point out that there’s another new star, just down there. It’s incredibly bright, just to the left of the sword of Orion.’

Wilf leaned down and eased the Doctor aside. ‘There?’

‘No, there.’

‘Oh, there. Yeah, we all like that one, too. It’s very pretty.’

‘Yeah, very pretty. A very pretty new star shining brightly in a constellation that it shouldn’t be anywhere near. Thing is, stars of that magnitude and shininess don’t just show up for no good reason.’

‘Shininess? Is that a technical term?’

The Doctor threw Wilf a look. ‘It’s good enough for me.’

‘Only I know that everyone who’s been talking about it calls stars like that Chaos Bodies, apparently.’

The Doctor thought for a second or two, then shrugged.

 

‘Do they? That’s a new one on me.’

‘It’s what they called it in the papers.’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Ah, well, if the newspapers said it, it must be true, because who on earth would argue with the tabloids.’ He looked up at the thing in the sky. ‘Chaos Bodies. Good descriptive name though, they got that right.’ The Doctor threw an arm around Wilf’s shoulder.

‘But you know what, who cares? You got a star, a much less worrying star, named after you and I’m very proud.’

‘Thank you. I’m glad you said that cos you have just solved my problem for me.’

‘What problem is that?’

‘I need someone to take me to Vauxhall.’

‘Why?’

‘The dinner.’

‘Who with?’

‘The Society.’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow night.’

‘How?’

‘By TARDIS?’

‘Yeah, cos that’s gonna happen.’

‘Well all right, on the tube, then. Sylvia thinks I’m not capable of going by myself. I mean, I’m fine sitting in a cold, damp allotment every night, which plays havoc with my—’

‘So Sylvia doesn’t want you going out late at night, right?’

‘I mean, I’m not gonna get lost, Doctor, but she’s getting all protective and daft these days. Since she lost

Geoff. And with Donna away so much. And now Netty…’

‘You know what, Wilfred Mott, I should be delighted to accompany you to dinner in Vauxhall. By taxi – how posh is that? I haven’t had a meal at the RPS since Bernard and Paula took me there in 1969 to watch the moon landings.

Do they still do that chocolate syrup pudding?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t been before.’

‘Then tomorrow night, Wilfred Mott of Chiswick, assuming the menu hasn’t changed in forty years, and being the Royal Planetary Society I think I’m on safe ground there, you are in for a culinary treat.’

The Doctor looked at the worryingly bright new star that wasn’t 7432MOTT one last time through the telescope. ‘Chaos Body indeed.’

‘It is beautiful though,’ Wilf murmured.

And both men suddenly shivered. Like someone was walking over their graves.

Or the grave of the entire planet.

‘Beautiful Chaos,’ the Doctor said quietly.

SATURDAY

Caitlin stood waiting at Heathrow Airport, Terminal 5, waiting for flights that would once have gone into Terminal 2. That was currently being demolished, ready for the East Terminal that would replace the one European flights used to come into. She was meeting various inbound flights, including one due in from JFK at midday, which would arrive before the European ones. She watched the huge 787-9 jet come in to land, sunlight gleaming off its new fuselage as it slowly crawled to a halt, before taxiing across to the arrival gate and being drawn into position by the small pilot truck.

Caitlin was dressed in a smart Terminal Staff uniform, her access-all-areas pass, with the highest security clearing Madam Delphi could get, dangling from the strap around her neck. She smiled sweetly at a couple of other staff, neither of whom challenged her even though they couldn’t possibly have ever seen her before. It was the

pass that did that, although Caitlin’s long dark hair and blue eyes would have been enough to distract anyone who wanted a closer look. A quick smile was usually all it took Caitlin to get exactly what she wanted.

It was actually a keen security guard who spotted her as she walked through Restricted Access doors towards the arrivals lounge, heading to exactly where she really had no right to be.

‘Excuse me?’ he called out.

‘Is there a problem…’ Caitlin screwed up her eyes to read his name tag. ‘Is there a problem, Keith?’

Keith Brownlow stared at her, his head slightly to one side as if sizing her up. ‘Not seen you before,’ he said quietly.

‘Not been here long,’ she answered quickly.

‘Funny,’ he replied. ‘I know everyone in this Terminal.

And those I don’t know, don’t get in here. I need you to leave, I’m afraid, until I can verify you are who you say you are.’

Caitlin paused for a moment, trying to remember a name. ‘I’m sure if you check with Mr Golding he’ll vouch for me. I joined his staff on Thursday.’

Keith shrugged. ‘And I’ll do that, but only once you go back the way you came and wait in the Yellow Zone.’

‘You’re very good at this, Keith, aren’t you?’

‘We take security very seriously,’ he said.

‘Of course you do,’ purred Caitlin. ‘Quite right too. But look, there’s only you and me here, you’ve seen my pass, you can see I have clearance. I’m sure it’s just administration that have failed to inform you I’m here. I

really need to be the other side of that door to greet some VIPs.’

Keith ignored her, his right hand resting on the holstered revolver at his hip, his left hand raising his walkie-talkie.

‘Oh dear, and I thought we might become friends,’

Caitlin said, raising her right arm and sending a bolt of purple energy into Keith’s chest, reducing him to ashes before he could even register the movement.

She walked forward, her high heels squashing the few ashes that remained into the carpet. With a quick, deep breath, she pushed open the VIP area doors and marched out to greet her guests.

They were standing, waiting for her, neither of them really seeming to register where they were or what they were doing. Two old Americans, in from New York.

‘Mr and Mrs DiCotta? Congratulations on your wedding and welcome to your honeymoon.’

Donnie and Portia DiCotta said nothing, just nodded as Caitlin led them to one of the service buggies that elderly and disabled passengers were moved around the airport terminals in.

A confused handler looked at her pass as she flashed it at him, but then moved on, allowing her to take the buggy.

The DiCottas climbed on board as the handler turned back.

‘Do they have luggage?’ he called out.

Caitlin smiled her sweetest smile, which she hoped didn’t suggest what she thought (‘Oh, do go away, you pointless oaf’), then said aloud, ‘It’s been delayed at JFK

so we’ll come back for it in the morning.’

She started the buggy up and drove forward. ‘You’re the first,’ she said quietly, no longer all sweetness and smiles.

‘Where are the others?’

‘The Greek is in shortly, the Italian group, not for another hour or so. We’ll wait, collect them and then go to Madam Delphi together. She has a mission for you tonight.’ Caitlin gave a little laugh. ‘I would ask about jetlag, but I imagine Madam Delphi has ensured you feel none of that.’

‘We feel fine,’ said Portia DiCotta.

‘Good,’ Caitlin said. ‘Perfect.’

The buggy carried on, away from the main routes and across to another Gate where the flight from Athens International would arrive. ‘And then we’re off to meet the funky 787-3 from Aeroporto Leonardo da Vinci di Fiumicino,’ she said. ‘I do hope you enjoy your stay. It’ll be brief but very dramatic.’

The little buggy trundled on down the long corridors ready to collect more of the army that Madam Delphi would eventually use to bring the human race to utter destruction.

Donna was adjusting the Doctor’s tie. She’d done this a hundred times for her dad, especially towards the end, which had given him an excuse to be grouchy and feel useless. The Doctor had no such excuse, but it hadn’t stopped him moaning about it.

‘Donna, I can tie a tie, you know.’

‘Really? Cos I’ve seen no evidence of that,’ was her

response, followed by an overenthusiastic shove of the knot a bit too close to the Doctor’s Adam’s apple.

‘Whoops,’ she smiled at him. ‘So sorry.’

He slid a finger down his shirt collar and somehow that single gesture seemed not only to loosen the knot, but also to undo his top button and then put creases into the shirt as well.

It was an art, he said. Geek chic, he said. Scruffy Arthur, she called it, giving up on a lost cause.

‘How’s Netty getting on?’ he asked.

‘She’s OK today,’ Donna said. ‘Granddad’s fussing round her. Mum’s speaking through gritted teeth because of it, so Netty’s hopped off early and said she’ll meet us there. I reckon she’s gone to buy another daft hat!’

‘Your mum’s worried about Wilf, that’s all. Netty’s great fun but a big responsibility,’ the Doctor said.

‘I know, but Mum doesn’t have to be so negative about it, does she?’

The Doctor shrugged. ‘She’s a mum, Donna. It’s their job to find fault with everyone in their family. It’s in the handbook.’

‘Did your mum criticise everything you do? The way you brushed your hair, the clothes you wore, the friends you hung out with, the music—’

‘Yeah, well, it was a bit different for me,’ he said quietly.

Donna looked at him and smiled comfortingly. ‘Of course it was. Sorry. Didn’t think.’

‘Oh, it’s all right. I’m just saying, give your mum some credit. It’s a lot to cope with – she’s looked after your

granddad alone for a long time. Now he has someone in his life, she’s bound to be a bit put out.’

‘Oh don’t go all Spock on me.’

‘Spock?’

‘Yeah, child psychologist blokey, or whatever he was.

All about relations between parents and kids.’

‘Ah. Dr Spock. Right.’

‘Why, is there another Spock that you know?’ laughed Donna as she headed out of the spare room. Although she suspected the Doctor hadn’t slept a wink in there – he never seemed to need sleep like a normal person.

The Doctor glanced at himself in the mirror. He always thought he looked quite good in a dinner jacket and black tie – he hated bow ties, they made him look like a waiter, going by what happened at other parties, so tonight it was a black tie proper. Course, it meant he now looked like he was going to a funeral, but hey-ho. And what was it with jackets, no matter how he buttoned them up, they always looked like they were too small or too tight, and the trousers never quite reached down to his ankles.

Ah well, it was Wilf’s night, not his.

There was a knock on the door. ‘Yeah, I’m coming, Donna, give us a minute.’

The door opened. It was Donna’s mum.

‘Ah. Hullo,’ he said. She was an intimidating woman and, like most mothers, she clearly didn’t like him much.

Was he imagining it or was his cheek starting to ache again?

Some mothers he could win over by sheer charm (ah, Jackie Tyler, what are you doing these days?), or by

proving that their daughter’s faith in him was justified (still got a good right hook, Francine Jones, bless you).

Now there was Sylvia Noble. Full of so much pride, tempered with so much rage, so much frustration. It was as if she never felt quite so in control of her life as she told herself she was, and that made her really angry.

Of course, it couldn’t have been easy losing Geoff. The Doctor had only met him once, at Donna’s wedding, where he seemed to be the more… temperate of the Noble parents. Now poor Sylvia was trying her best to deal with a wayward daughter who was nowhere near as wayward as Sylvia imagined (she still had no idea where he really took Donna) and an elderly father, who was so determined not to be a burden on his daughter that he became a bigger one by default. Wilf Mott wanted to prove he was independent, strong and twenty years younger than he was, believing it would take pressure of Sylvia; he just didn’t realise that Sylvia saw through this and was twice as worried as she would be if he just sat in an armchair all day watching Countdown.

How long was it since the Doctor had sat down and watched Countdown? He used to like Countdown.

‘You’ll take care of him.’

‘You’re not coming with us?’

Sylvia looked as if she was about to say something, but then she just shook her head slightly. ‘Not my thing.’

‘But it’s your dad…’

‘We had a… discussion about that.’

‘Ah.’ The Doctor could only begin to imagine how that went. ‘Are you sure? Because I’m positive he, Donna and

Netty would love you–’

He stopped. Sylvia was one step away from flinching at the mention of Henrietta Goodhart.

‘Look after him, please, Doctor,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s not getting any younger, despite what he thinks.’

The Doctor smiled disarmingly. ‘Course I will.’

‘There’s no “course I will” about it with you, Doctor, so don’t give me any of your so-called charm and flannel.

I wasn’t asking a question, I was telling you.’

The Doctor tried not to smile – it was like being told off by a headmistress. Then the glint in Sylvia’s eye reminded him this was not remotely funny.

‘Promise,’ he said, mentally adding, ‘And I’ll do three hundred lines: “I will not lose members of the Noble family in London”.’

‘They’re all I have,’ she said and walked out of the room.

The Doctor licked his forefinger and held it up.

Yup, the room’s ambient temperature had indeed dropped several degrees.

Half an hour later, they had piled into a cab. Wilf and Donna sat on the seat, the Doctor on one of those fold-down spare seats. He wriggled uncomfortably on it for the whole journey.

Wilf was dressed up to the nines – silk tie, good shirt, slightly tight jacket that had probably been bought in the early seventies – but was let down by the pair of trainers on his feet.

As if sensing where the Doctor was looking, Wilf held up a tatty carrier bag. Inside it was a pair of black dress

shoes. ‘They don’t half kill the circulation in my feet, so I wear ’em as little time as I can,’ he explained.

The Doctor nodded. ‘You look nice,’ he said to Donna.

‘Thanks. Had to borrow something off of Veena, who’d lent it to Mooky, so she had to bring it round this afternoon while you were out getting your suit and –what?’

The Doctor grinned. ‘Your friends have amazing names.’ He laughed gently. ‘Mooky.’

Donna raised an eyebrow at this. ‘You can talk. Mister Ood. Mister Matron Cofelia. Mister Ventraxian Gol-Zeeglar. Where d’you get off thinking my mates’ names are funny-sounding, eh?’

‘Fair point, although Ood isn’t really a name, it’s more a sort of species designation, and I… um…’

Donna was giving him one of her ‘do I look like I care’

looks, so he turned to Wilf instead.

‘Excited?’

‘Too right I am, Doctor. I get a star to myself. Named after me. How great is that?’

‘It’s more than great, Gramps,’ Donna squeezed his hand. ‘It’s bloody marvellous. Spaceman over there, ask him if anyone’s named a star after him.’

‘Have they, Doctor?’

Whether they had or hadn’t was neither here nor there right now. ‘Absolutely not,’ he told Wilf. ‘And I’m very jealous.’

‘Yeah,’ Wilf leaned forward, so the driver wouldn’t hear him. ‘Yeah, but you? You get to visit ’em, don’t you?

You get to go up there.’ He turned to Donna and nudged

her playfully. ‘You make the most of it, my girl.’

‘Oh, I am, don’t you worry,’ she said.

The Doctor nodded. ‘Oh, she is, don’t you worry at all.’

‘I mean, I’ve seen and done some things in my time, Doctor, but nothing can compare to what you’re showing my little girl, eh?’

‘Hey, I’m not just a passenger, you know,’ Donna smiled. ‘I get to make a lot of the decisions about where we go, who we see, how quickly we have to leave again, cos he’s gone and upset someone in charge. With an army.

And a big axe. And twelve legs.’

‘Ten legs,’ the Doctor automatically corrected her.

‘Oooh, all right then. Ten legs, and two arms that hung down to the ground. If you’re being pedantic. Which you clearly are. Tonight.’

The Doctor grinned at them both. ‘Maybe we should take you with us on a jaunt one day, Wilf.’

‘No!’

Both Donna and Wilf had said that together, then looked at each other.

‘It’s dangerous, Granddad.’

‘You go!’

‘I’m… I can look after myself. If anything happened to you, what’d Mum do?’

‘Kill you?’

‘Well, she’d kill him,’ Donna nodded at the Doctor. ‘I’d get away with being skinned alive. Probably.’

‘You said “no” too, Wilf,’ the Doctor said.

Wilf looked up at the stars as they drove into South

London, crossing Vauxhall Bridge. ‘I like to look, Doctor.

I like to look, and imagine and dream. But the reality? All them monsters and guns and stuff? Nah. I prefer my ideas.’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Very wise. Mind you, you’d be a calming influence on her.’

‘Oh I know. She does go on, doesn’t she?’

‘I am sitting here. Right here,’ Donna said.

The Doctor was still talking to Wilf. ‘And there’s obviously something in her childhood about centipedes, but she won’t say what. Cos we went to this one place—’

‘Oi!’

Wilf laughed. ‘Oh I gotta tell you about that. When she was about eight, her dad and I took her up Norfolk way.

To the Broads? Anyway, she was paddling about when—’

‘ OI!! ’

They both looked at Donna. She was pointing to herself. One finger on each hand. At her head.

‘As I said. Sat here. Listening. Not liking.’ The two men grinned at each other.

‘Later,’ the Doctor said.

‘Later,’ Wilf confirmed.

Donna broke them up. ‘We’re here.’

The cab pulled up outside the Society, a huge red-brick building built in early Victorian times, just off the main circus by Vauxhall station.

Donna paid the driver (‘You’re coughing up on the way home,’ she told the Doctor). As the taxi roared away, she straightened her dress, checked her heels and nudged the Doctor, who was staring up at the night sky at the stars.

At the new star Wilf had shown him last night. Which was now brighter than before. And there seemed to be another couple of stars that he didn’t think should be there…

Donna nudged him again.

‘What?’

She indicated with her head towards Wilf, who was gripping a lamppost, trying to take off his trainers and hold onto his carrier bag at the same time.

‘I can’t bend in this thing,’ she hissed. ‘If I tear it, Veena will knock me into next week. She does the whole martial arts thing.’

The Doctor took the bag from Wilf and let the old man lean on him as he slipped his trainers off and replaced them with the dress shoes.

‘Sylvia bought these,’ he said to the Doctor. ‘Bloody things are three sizes too small.’

‘No they’re not,’ Donna said automatically. ‘You’re not trying.’

‘Blimey, when did you turn into your mum?’ said Wilf.

Donna opened her mouth to retort, but the Doctor, sensing retreat was the better part of valour, grabbed both their arms and placed himself between them.

‘Someone’s dinner awaits,’ he said and they marched up to the building.

The huge wooden door swung open as they reached the top step and a smartly dressed gentleman, mid-thirties, olive skin, dark hair and eyes that twinkled, waved them in.

‘Good evening, Mister Mott,’ he said in a slight

European accent. ‘Miss Noble. Doctor Smith. I am Gianni, Head of Hospitality.’

Donna pulled a ‘blimey’ face. ‘He was well rehearsed.’

‘Guest of honour,’ Wilf said. ‘I had to tell them who I was bringing.’

Gianni walked them into a small area where a couple of people aged somewhere between sixty and two hundred and eleventy were leaning on a bar. Or possibly the bar was holding them up. Either way, they looked like they were part of the furniture.

Donna wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of Scotch and looked behind them, where another door led to a vast dining area, and a hubbub of noise.

‘Do go through,’ the Head of Hospitality said, so Donna led the way.

As the trio entered the dining room, the hubbub stopped and was replaced by a round of applause led, Donna was pleased to see, by Henrietta Goodhart, resplendent in another bizarre but unusually tonally dour hat.

She walked towards them, arms outstretched, kissed Donna, then the Doctor and finally Wilf, each of them on both cheeks, Continental style. Then she planted a quick one on Wilf’s lips and winked. ‘I’m fine tonight,’ she said to his unasked question.

A man in his late fifties walked over, and shook Wilf’s hand. ‘Crossland. Cedric Crossland. Doctor Cedric Crossland. Doctor Cedric Crossland CBE. But you must call me Rick, Mr Mott.’

‘Oh, just Wilf’ll be fine,’ Wilf said, throwing a look

appealing for help or rescue to Donna, the Doctor and Netty.

Donna started forward but Netty held her back. ‘No, no, let him go. It’s his night and he has to take the rough with the smooth, bless his cotton socks. Besides, the chocolate pudding’ll make it all worthwhile.’ They watched as Wilf got caught up in the celebrations. ‘He looks so happy,’ she said.

‘I understand you have a big part to play in that,’ the Doctor said, adding ‘Not that I pretend to understand things like that.’

Netty grinned at him. ‘Course you don’t, Doctor. Being from outer space.’

The Doctor stared at her, then smiled. ‘Actually, I’m from Nottingham—’

‘He’s from Walthamstow,’ Donna said at the same time.

‘Born in Nottingham,’ said the Doctor.

‘But brought up in Walthamstow,’ added Donna, a bit sheepishly.

‘Wilf told me everything, Doctor. About you. About the ATMOS stuff. About where Donna is when she’s with you. No secrets, you see.’

The Doctor blew air out of his cheeks. ‘Well, I’m not sure what Wilf has told you but, I’m… um… well…’

Netty touched his hand. ‘It’s all right. Most days I can barely remember who I am, let alone what planet you and Donna are sending postcards from. Your secret is safe with me.’

‘I think I’ll kill him this time,’ Donna said, looking towards her grandfather who was being poured an

extraordinarily large brandy by a group of old men and women.

Netty shook her head. ‘He’s so proud of you both, please don’t be cross with him. Besides, it gives me a chance to talk to you both about the Chaos Body. You know, while I still can.’

Donna frowned.

‘I’m sorry, Donna,’ Netty said. ‘Does me talking about my condition embarrass you? There’s no need, there’s nothing I have to hide from anyone. Least of all myself.’

‘It’s not that,’ Donna said. ‘It’s just… well, a bit sad.’

‘It is. Very sad, believe me. But I have got used to living with it and I make the most of the lucid days because the ones that aren’t are getting more and more frequent.’

‘How frequent?’

‘Doctor! She’s not going to tell the world about us.’

But he shushed her. ‘How frequent, Henrietta?’

‘If I can get through to Friday remembering what I did on Tuesday, that’s a victory.’

Gianni was at their side, surreptitiously as a good Head of Hospitality should be, with drinks on a silver tray for them and they grabbed the glasses quickly, as if trying to fill in a gap in the conversation.

‘So,’ Netty said. ‘Chaos Bodies.’

‘When did it show up? The first one, I mean?’

‘Ah,’ Netty said, ‘you’ve noticed the others. Only saw them myself this evening and no one here tonight seems to have mentioned it.’

‘That’s cos they weren’t there last night. Or when we

left Chiswick, actually.’

Netty laughed. ‘I know you know more about outer space than this lot here do put together but, scientifically, stars can’t move that quickly. And if they could, the devastation would be phenomenal.’

The Doctor toasted her. ‘Ah, but then they’re not stars.

Not real stars. The chaos bit, though, that’s spot on.’

‘What are they, then?’ asked Donna.

The Doctor shrugged. ‘I have a suspicion. The first one, the original, that looks like a star certainly, and it’s certainly a ball of superheated combustible energy that shares minor properties with a star, but the others, they’re like satellites. But not astral ones.’

‘Man-made?’

‘Well, Someone-made, yes. And somewhere at the back of my head is a little voice trying to tell me where I’ve seen it all before.’

There was a tinkle of someone tapping a glass with a spoon.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, before we eat, I should like to introduce you to our guest of honour,’ Doctor Crossland was saying. ‘In honour of being the first to spot the new star M7432•6, officially known as 7432MOTT, I give you – Wilfred Mott!’

There was thunderous applause and even a ‘hear, hear’, then one of the waiters led the Doctor, Donna and Netty to the table to join the rest of the guests.

The Doctor was nabbed by Wilf and positioned between him and Crossland, while Netty was on Wilf’s other side and Donna next to her.

The Doctor looked expectantly at the empty seat to his right, wondering who was going to sit there. It was, he thought, a bit like being sat on a train and hoping the empty seat beside you isn’t going to be occupied by a madman with a loud personal stereo or a kicking child or, worst of all, some frumpy businessman who would spend the whole journey loudly on his mobile phone. And, every time he hung up and someone else rang, he’d let the annoying ringtone go all the way through before answering.

The Doctor often wondered these days when these trivial little things had begun to annoy him quite so much.

Must have been hitting the big 900 mark.

The seat was yanked back by a woman whose clothing could at best be described as eccentric and at worst insane, a terrible clashing of colours, styles and, well, everything.

The biggest crime against fashion was the blouse she was wearing, which appeared to have Galileo’s Map of the Heavens embroidered on it. By hand. They were the sort of clothes you might put on if you got dressed with both eyes closed after someone had taken your wardrobe and given it a really good shake.

Not that the wearer seemed remotely aware of her…

unique haute couture. More alarmingly, none of the other members seemed to bat an eyelid either – only Wilf and especially Donna reacted, Wilf with incredulity and Donna by stifling a laugh and finding the glass of water before her suddenly the most fascinating thing on Earth.

‘Ariadne Holt,’ she said in a tone that suggested to the Doctor that this wasn’t just an introduction but was in fact

a complete explanation for why she looked as she did.

‘Hullo,’ he said, offering his hand. She held her own hand up as if to suggest he kiss it or, at the very least, bow slightly. He did neither, managing instead to turn it back into the handshake he had started.

She gave him a look that seemed to say, ‘Oh, right, you’re going to be like that are you?’ and pulled her chair closer to the table and very slightly further away from him.

‘So,’ said Ariadne, ‘What’s your field?’

‘Ten Acre,’ he smiled.

Steely glare.

‘In-joke,’ he mumbled.

‘Bad one.’

Steely glare again.

‘I’m the Doctor, by the way.’

‘I know,’ Ariadne Holt said.

‘You do?’

‘Crossland told me. Suggested I sit. Here. Next to you.

For dinner.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right. Well, sorry, I don’t actually know Mr Crossland.’

‘Doctor.’

‘Yes?’

‘What?’

‘What?’

‘He’s Doctor Crossland. Not “Mister”.’

‘I see.’

‘You’re Smith. John Smith. You write books. With pictures. About the constellations, no?’

‘Ah, no. Not me. Sorry. Although when I was little I used to do finger-paintings of the night sky. I used to add bits of… well, pasta you’d call it, to make the planets all 3-D. And glitter. Lots of glitter. I was very… glittery.’

Steely glare again.

‘You don’t really care much about my finger-paintings, do you, Ariadne? Can’t say I blame you. Not much good.

D-minus. Four out of ten. Harsh, but probably justified I always think. So, what do you study?’

Ariadne Holt ignored him and looked past him to Doctor Crossland. ‘Wrong Smith, you old fool,’ she said.

‘This one’s not the author.’

Crossland glanced at the Doctor. ‘What is he then?’

‘I’m right here,’ the Doctor said.

‘Ha!’ snorted Donna, remembering the taxi ride.

‘A fool,’ Ariadne Holt replied. ‘Droning on and on about finger-painting and Italian food.’

Donna gave the Doctor a double thumbs-up and an exaggerated wink.

He gave her a look that should’ve turned her to ice.